Illogical Reasoning
by ArtisticRain
Summary: What does a woman do when she wakes up and realizes that her entire life has vanished? She does whatever she can to get it back. It'll be a difficult task, but with the help of an erratic, ingenious detective and a brilliant doctor, how hard could it be?


Weary.

This was just one word that could be used to describe the current state of the woman. She was awake, but found it increasingly difficult to get herself out of bed. Not only was her body extremely worn out and weak, but her mind felt the same. She was finding it rather difficult to even form a clear, concise thought within her head. Her mind was jumbled, and she was harboring a massive headache at the moment as well.

When her eyes finally decided to open, she was glad that there was no harsh light that would cause irritation or more discomfort to her already aching head. Her eyes glanced towards the window, and it was gloomy and cloudy outside, which was normal for London. She finally found the strength to sit up, and she took her time, making sure a sudden rush wouldn't cause her to get dizzy or faint.

It wasn't until her vision finally cleared that she realized that something was very wrong. She had no idea where she was. The room was completely foreign to her. Everything was in disarray. Papers were scattered about, the air was stuffy and hard to breath in, and the place was dark save for the natural light that was being let in through the window. She looked down at the bed she was on, and it looked quite unfamiliar to her. This was not her bedroom.

She knew something was wrong when she looked down and found herself dressed in men's attire. She was sporting a long, white button down shirt that was too long for her arms and a pair of black slacks that dragged across the floor. Obviously she wouldn't normally be wearing this, so she wondered why she was dressed in it and who had put it on her.

She slowly got out of the bed, not wanting to make any noise and alert anyone that might possibly be in the room with her. Her bare feet touched the cool, wooden ground, and thankfully it made no squeak. She pulled some of her hair out of her face so that she could see a little better. The only thing that was in her mind at this moment was to leave and get help, so the first thing she began searching for a way out. There was only one door that she could see, and the other half of the room was concealed by a large curtain dividing both sides.

She took a deep breath before her feet began making its way towards the side of the bed that the door was on. Unfortunately, it only took about two and a half steps for one of her feet to come in contact with some porcelain object that was on the ground. It didn't hurt the woman, but the noise it elicited from making contact with one another seemed to pierce the quiet air, and she had to cover her hand with her mouth to stop herself from cursing at herself. She had went from moving slowly to standing deathly still, afraid that any sudden movement would alert someone of her misdoings.

Noise could be heard coming from outside of the room, causing panic to grow in the woman's chest. She could feel her heart begin to pound within her ribcage. Her eyes hurriedly scanned

the foreign room for an object of some sort that would ultimately serve as a temporary weapon to protect herself with. The most she could find was a wooden cane with a metal handle, so she hurriedly grabbed it and ran to the wall next to the door. She could hear the footsteps getting closer, so she began mentally preparing herself for what was about to come.

The door to the room opened rather slowly, and much to her dismay, she could not see the face of the person that was apparently peeping inside. Once it fully opened, the woman was now concealed behind the wooden structure and the wall behind her. She watched as the man walked away from the entrance of the room and to the foot of the empty bed. His eyes looked from left to right, looking for her, no doubt. She slowly raised the cane, tightened her grip and prepared herself to attack.

"Holmes?" the man called out., confusion and worry evident in his voice. He was clearly distracted at this point.

She took this opportunity to kick the door away and swung the cane at the man's head. Much to her dismay, he ducked rather well and missed her attack. She swung it a second time, and then a third, and he missed each one. On the fourth swing, he missed it just barely. His loss of footing was what saved him, and he fell back on the bed that she was previously occupying. While he was down, she lifted the cane and slammed it down so she could get him in the face. He saw the move coming and rolled off the bed just in time.

He was fast, she noticed, once he steadied himself on the ground and came at her. She made a move to swing the cane once again, but the man caught the blow, grabbing the cane with both hands. The woman would not release her grip on it, so both were holding onto the wooden stick, trying to pull it out of the other person's grip. She was facing her blue eyed assailant, and to her surprise, she saw no malice or malevolence behind his eyes.

She was temporarily distracted by this, and even though it was a very short moment, the man used this opportunity to twist the cane in the woman's hand, causing her to release it from the discomfort, and shift the woman's balance. She unfortunately lost her footing and ended up being flipped over onto the bed.

She didn't even process what had happened just now until she found herself on her back, on the bed. The impact knocked the wind out of her, so it took her a few seconds to compose herself. When she did, she sat upright and moved as far away from the stranger as possible.

"Please, Madame-" the man began, but the woman cut him off before he had a chance to finish.

"Who are you? Where am I?" She asked instantly.

"You're safe here."

"Am I?" she questioned. "Tell me where I am."

"You're in the home of a colleague of mine."

"Why?"

"Because we believe that you're in need of protection."

"And what would make you come to that assumption, I wonder?" she asked with raised eyebrows.

"Because we discovered your body in the middle of an alleyway. Unconscious and left for dead."

'_An alleyway? What is he talking about?' _she thought to herself."I don't believe you," she said, shaking her head slightly.

"That's natural, and to be expected. However, it's the truth."

"Well if that was the case, then why would you bring me _here_? Why not to the authorities or to a hospital?"

"Because we believe that your life may be in danger, and we didn't want to risk you being discovered."

"My life in…" she began, but she had a hard time processing everything she was hearing at that moment. "What? I don't…"

"Can I ask you a question?" the man asked, and her brows furrowed even more before she hesitantly nodded. "Can you recall anything you did within the past 48 hours?"

The woman narrowed her eyes to the question, wondering why he would ask her something so ridiculous. Why wouldn't she be able to remember the past two days? She didn't think anything of it until she really thought back, and came to realize that she couldn't remember anything that had occurred within the past few days, much less the past 48 hours. She couldn't really recall anything, to be honest.

"No," she said begrudgingly after a while, answering his question.

"May I ask what your name is, Madame?"

She stared at him for a while before she let out a small chuckle, rubbing her eyes with her fingers. She couldn't remember her name either. Everything was a blank. "This can't be happening…" she said, shaking her head.

"Just as I suspected. You seem to be suffering from amnesia. When you were found, you had a rather large lump on your head. Amnesia is common in people that have suffered from head injuries. In your case, it would be blunt force trauma to the head, most likely brought on by the people that tried to harm you" the man explained. The woman just stared at him, trying to take it all in.

"How…" she began, but struggled to continue. With everything that she was now taking in, she didn't really know how to react. She was shocked, to say the least. "How long have I been here?" she questioned, a bit more calmly.

"About 18 hours. Almost a day."

"And I've been unconscious this whole time?"

"Yes," he nodded.

"Where's my dress?" she asked with a raised brow.

"It was soaked and filthy. We thought it would be better if you were comfortable and not wet."

"So… _you _changed me?"

"No. We have a landlady that did it for you. Mrs. Hudson. You'll most likely meet her later," he clarified.

"Fine. So what now?" she asked. She was completely at a loss. What could she do? Where would she go? She couldn't even remember her own name, so she didn't really know where to begin.

"I need to check on your vitals and make sure you're still okay. The bump on your head is pretty bad, and I need to make sure that it won't lead to any more damage," he explained, tossing the cane aside and beginning to make his way to the side of the bed that she was on.

Instinctively, she backed herself farther away from him when he moved closer to her. Although his story is plausible, she still didn't trust this guy one bit. Everything he said could be a lie. For all she knew, he may be the one that wants to kill her.

"Your story may be plausible, but it doesn't mean that I trust you."

"Please, Miss, I don't wish to harm you. I'm a doctor," he said, raising his hands up so she knew he wasn't going to try anything funny. He slowly approached her again, and this time, although she stayed still, she watched him, her piercing eyes watching him like a hawk. He knelt in front of her and rolled up his right hand sleeve. He raised his hand, making sure that she saw what he was doing, and placed it on her neck. He held it there for a while, and afterwards he began checking his watch. She assumed that he was checking to make sure her pulse was normal.

After a while, he moved his hand from her neck and placed it on the top of her head, right where her hairline began. "You have a small incision right here," he said, tapping onto the spot, causing her to wince in response. His hand then traveled to her scalp, and she felt where the lump on her head was. She waited for him to move his hand before she replaced it with her own. She felt the lump and winced when she pressed it down to see how tender it was.

"One last thing," the doctor said as he reached for her face. Instinct caused her to back up, and she narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm not going to hurt you," he said calmly, trying to reassure her. He couldn't blame her for not trusting him. He threw her a lot of information all at once, and with the added confusion and shock, she must be afraid and scared.

The woman gave him one last warning look before leaning back into the position that she was previously in. He raised his hands slowly, showing her that he really mean _no harm_, and he placed a hand on her chin before raising the other in front of her face. "I want you to follow my finger, alright?" he said, and she nodded. He moved his hand up and down slowly at first. Her eyes kept up with his finger until he started going a little too fast, then she couldn't get her eyes to keep up. She felt her headache becoming increasingly worse from all the movement.

"Stop, please," she said, shooing his hand away from under her chin and ending the test herself.

"Looks like you're still a bit disoriented, which is to be expected. That lump on your head is a big one," he commented to himself. "It'll probably take a day for everything to become stable again. As for the lump, it'll have to take a bit longer, unfortunately. I'll be back in a second," he announced as he got up from his kneeling position on the ground. He dusted off his knees before looking back at her. "I have to get something for your cheek.

"My cheek?" she asked confused. She reached for her cheeks with both hands, but only winced once her left hand made contact. She rubbed the spot tenderly, allowing her eyes to scan the room for a mirror so she could examine the bruise herself. Unfortunately, she couldn't find one. She got up from the bed and stood upright, adjusting the shirt that she was wearing. It was rather uncomfortable seeing as how she obviously wasn't used to it.

She closed her eyes and rubbed her temple. She was attacked, bludgeoned and left for dead. But for what reason? What could she have possibly done to have warranted this? She couldn't remember anything, but she knew that she couldn't have done anything wrong. Maybe she was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. She had so many questions and no way to get the answers.

"You needn't worry too much," a voice suddenly spoke from the other side of the room. The woman gasped and jumped in surprise, spinning around to face the direction in which the voice had come from. She looked on the far opposite side of the room and waited for someone to come out, but no one ever did. "As time goes on, your memories will gradually begin to come back to you. It will be as if you had never lost them in the first place."

"Who is that?" she asked nervously.

"I, Madame," he began, his voice getting closer, "am the gentleman whose home you just so happen to be residing in at the moment." There was a long curtain of some sort separating the two sections of the room, and it was rigorously pulled back to reveal the source of the foreign voice.

The woman turned around, in addition to unconsciously stepping back a few feet, to come face to face with a rather disheveled looking man. Compared to the man who was here before, he was a complete opposite to him. The doctor had looked tidy and clean, whereas this man looked unkempt and messy. Greatly contrasting the three piece suit that the doctor had on, this man wore a pair of black slacks with the suspenders hanging from his hips, a crumpled white shirt and a pair of black loafers on his feet.

"Your welcome, by the way," he said, breaking the woman from her previous observation. She blinked and raised a brow at his comment.

"I don't recall saying thank you."

"Nevertheless, you should be very thankful. If the Doctor and I hadn't found you when we did…." he began, then slowly walked back to the side of the room in which he came from. "Well then I can only _assume_ what could have become of you, and none of those possibilities are less than grim," he finished, speaking a little louder so that she could now hear him from where he had moved to.

The woman walked to the other side of the room, close enough so that she could see the man again, but still far enough so that they were still significantly apart from one another. "Who are you?" she asked.

"Ah, but that's not the real question here, now is it?" he asked, raising a finger in the air. "We needn't go over who I am, but rather figure out who exactly you are."

"Well obviously, since you were present, you heard what just occurred between me and the doctor, so you know that I haven't a clue of who I am," she said, putting some emphasis on the word doctor, indicating she still didn't trust him one bit. She could say the same for the man who stood in front of her right now. How could they expect her to fully believe their story if she didn't even have a name for either one of them.

"My, and what a shame that is."

"Are you going to answer my question or not?" she asked.

"Would you like to know who you are?" he asked suddenly.

"Is that a serious question?" she asked, annoyance evident in her voice.

"Well then, come find out. There's no need to continue with the suspicious and unnerving behavior. Surely you must have realized by now that we both mean you no harm. If that was the case, then we would have done a lot worse to you by now."

A small scoff escaped her lips as she crossed her arms and gave the man a one over before still cautiously making her way towards him, despite his snide comment. Her bare feet could be heard padding softly on the wooden floor unless her feet came in contact with a rug or scattered papers. She walked until she was standing next to him, hands still crossed.

"So, who am I?" she asked, partly serious and partly sarcastic at the same time.

"You, Madame, are Rosemary McClaire," he announced proudly, as if he had just solved some sort or riddle.

"Ah, I see. And is there anything that can merit for this revelation, other than your meaningless word?" she asked, raising her brows.

The man looked at her and cleared his throat before turning back around to the desk and picking up a folded, crumbled piece of paper. "This was found on your person when you were discovered," he said as he handed it to her.

She gave him a look before taking it from him and opening it. She read the contents of the letter.

_Rosemary,_

_I have to discuss something with you. Meet me in our hiding spot._

_-J_

It was a short message, but it clarified the question that she had asked. "Alright then, but what about my last name? How did you figure that out?"

"Whoever your family is, they have a crest within their ancestry. They probably have some tradition in which every family member had some article of clothing that allows the crest to be worn proudly. In your case, it was a white gold pendant with a sapphire stone. On it is your family crest, which had your surname on it," he explained as he pulled it out of a small, silk pouch and held it from the chain. "On the back of the pendant is also an intricately shaped 'R,' which confirms your first name."

She took the pendant and examined it on her own, seeing that what he had said was true. He let go of the chain and allowed her to hold it on her own.

"Rosemary McClaire…" she said, testing it out on her own tongue. "Well, as comforting as it is to know who I am, it still does absolutely nothing for me," she explained, placing the pendant and the note back on the table.

"But that's where you're wrong. We have your name. We just might possibly have everything we need to bring you back to your family. This could all be a thing in the past."

"It's obviously not that simple," she stated, shaking her head.

"What do you mean? Your name gives us enough information to contact your family and-"

"If that was the case, then wouldn't you have done so already rather than keep me here?" she asked. His eyes narrowed at this, as if he was pleased by her inquiry. "What's the catch?"

"The catch… is that we're going to find out who attacked you, and why."

"We, as in… you and I," she asked, pointing to him and then herself.

"No. I mean, you will be a great deal of help once your memories begin to resurface, I'm sure, but my partner and I will be solving this."

"You and your partner?" she asked again.

"Precisely."

Her brows furrowed, and she tilted her head to the side to look at him again. "Who are you?" she asked for what would hopefully be the final time.

He looked at her for a second before outstretching his hand. "Sherlock Holmes."

"Ok. That means nothing to me," she replied, eyeing his outstretched hand but refusing to take it.

"Of course it does, you have no memory of anything," he said, stating it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. It made her a little upset the way he was talking to her as if she was a simple minded person.

"I'm a consulting detective. I'm quite known amongst the citizens of London."

"Okay. Prove it."

He opened his mouth to respond, but closed it instead and began looking about the disheveled room. Rosemary watched as he left her side to collect a few pieces of paper that were scattered across the ground. It took him about a minute to gather everything he needed before he made his way back to her side. He handed her what looked like an old news paper, and she took it from his hands.

"Sherlock Holmes aides Scotland Yard," she read aloud before looking back up at him, unimpressed. "Only a name and no picture. Well, this proves absolutely nothing."

"As I suspected you'd say, which is why I also included these as proof," he said, handing her a small pile of old letters. Her eyes skimmed each one of them briefly, not paying too much to the contents of the letters, but rather to the fact that they were all made out to a "Sherlock Holmes."

"Alright then. I believe you," she said, tossing the letters aside.

"As you should have from the very beginning," he replied.

"Yeah, well, you didn't give me much to work with, now did you?"

Before either of them could speak again, the door to the room was reopened and the doctor had returned. He had a cold compress in his hand, along with a cup of water in the other. He stopped in his tracks when he turned the corner and saw that the two were standing together.

"Ah, you've returned," Holmes said upon his arrival. "You handled yourself very well a while ago," he commented, referring to the spat between him and Rosemary earlier.

"Yes, I did. Without your help. I apologize for that, by the way," he said, averting his attention from Holmes and focusing on Rosemary.

"It's fine, I suppose. I apologize for attacking you. Wake up in an unfamiliar place, you can't help but get defensive," she shrugged.

"Don't take any offense to this, but how would you know if you can't remember anything?"

"Intuition," she replied simply.

"An apology? I'm amazed that you actually have manners," Holmes said to Rose.

She laughed to herself at that. "That makes one of us, now doesn't it?"

"Well, I see you've met my…." he interrupted, but stopped when he couldn't quite find the right word to describe Holmes.

"Employer," Holmes declared, causing the doctor to give him a sour look.

"Partner," he corrected dully.

"Associate."

"Colleague."

"Hi," she announced, interrupting and hopefully putting an end to their silly squabble. "I'm Rosemary McClaire, apparently. And you are?" she asked, gesturing to the doctor.

"Ah. He's told you your name, I see. Well, I'm John Watson. Your doctor for the time being," he replied. "In addition to that, I'll also be helping you on this case. I apologize in advance for anything he may have said to you, by the way. He's not very good with people."

"I take offense to that," Holmes stated.

"Good. You should."

Rosemary fought a smirk and composed herself before looking back towards the doctor. "Here. Hold this against your cheek. It'll help the swelling go down," he said as he handed her the cold compress. She took it from him and gingerly placed it on her swollen cheek. She was unable to apply full pressure all at once, so she kept applying more pressure little by little.

"Thank you," she said, for the first time sounding as if she truly believed what they had told her. "What's the water for?"

"It's actually an analgesic mixture. It's supposed to ease the pain in your cheek as well as your head," he explained, handing her the glass cup.

She took it from him and looked at it for a bit before placing it to her lips and taking a gulp. It didn't take too long for her senses to kick in, and she had to stop herself from spitting it back out. She swallowed the vile liquid and removed the cup from her lips, sending the doctor a look as if to ask him, "What on earth did I just drink?"

"I apologize. I guess I should have told you that it had a rather vile taste."

"Yes, that would have been very nice," she replied, letting out a disgusted sigh before placing the cup on the nearest table.

"Wonderful!" Holmes exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "Now that we've all been introduced, it's time to get to work."

"And where do you plan on starting? It's not like you have any heading," Rosemary stated calmly.

"We have a name, which is a good start."

"And a woman who knows nothing. So you basically have nothing at all," she corrected.

"Must you have such little faith in me, Miss McClaire?" Holmes asked exasperatedly.

"Why would I have faith in you? I don't even know you!" she replied in the same exasperated tone. "You haven't done anything magnificent or awe inspiring, so why should I put my faith in you? Someone I just met?"

"I'm sorry, and how would you have been able to tell if we just met?"

"Oh, what a case this will be," John muttered to himself before taking a seat on one of the cushioned chairs. _'What a case, indeed.'_


End file.
